


Not Fooling Anyone

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 19:17:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1576550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six times Enjolras and Grantaire tried to fool their friends, to no avail because, well, they're a <em>little</em> obvious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Fooling Anyone

**Author's Note:**

> Copious amounts of fluff.
> 
> Usual disclaimer. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

“You’re late,” Joly said accusingly as Grantaire slid into the booth across from him and Bossuet. The three of them had a standing brunch date, every Saturday, rain, snow, or shine, no matter how hungover Grantaire was, or Bossuet’s state of bodily harm.

As such, the apologetic grin Grantaire flashed him was genuine, and he ran his fingers through his particularly disheveled hair. “I know, I know,” he said, opening the menu, even though after five years he knew it backwards and forwards. “Sorry about that. Traffic was awful and I was already running a few minutes late.”

The waitress came over to take their order, already scribbling down their drink orders, which she knew by heart. “The usual,” Joly told her, handing her his menu. “Though make my omelet an egg-white omelet today.”

“The usual for me as well,” Bossuet said, smiling at her.

Grantaire snorted. “You’re a grown-ass man. I can’t believe you still eat chocolate chip pancakes with a smiley face drawn on them with whipped cream.”

“Says the guy who threw a hissy fit when they didn’t have chocolate milk last time,” Bossuet shot back, though his grin was good-natured.

The waitress cleared her throat. “Now boys, none of that, or I won’t bring any crayons for you to color with.” She raised an eyebrow at Grantaire. “Hangover usual today, or normal person usual today?”

Grantaire smirked. “Normal person usual, believe it or not.”

“I could die of shock,” she told him dryly. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

Joly raised an eyebrow at Grantaire, who was still smirking. “Not hungover this morning? I really could die of shock. I thought you said at Thursday’s meeting that you were going to go out and get — and I quote — ‘hammerdrunk’ last night.”

Grantaire shrugged and unzipped his jacket, peeling it off and wadding it in a ball in the corner of the booth. “Changed my mind. It’s not just a woman’s prerogative, you know.”

Bossuet was staring at Grantaire’s chest with a look close to fascination on his face, and he elbowed Joly, who had opened his mouth to reply. Joly followed Bossuet’s line of sight and instantly shut his mouth, suddenly looking like a little kid on Christmas morning. Grantaire stared at both of them, confused. “Is there something on my shirt?” he asked.

Joly let out a giggle and Bossuet elbowed him again, grinning. “No, no,” he said quickly. “The color just looks really good on you.”

“Definitely,” Joly said, sobering up and nodding emphatically. “Looks really good on you. And, uh, I didn’t know that you worked on Hillary Clinton’s campaign.”

Grantaire glanced down at his shirt, which definitely said “Hillary Clinton 2012 Volunteer”, and turned red. “Oh, um, I borrowed this. From Enjolras. A long time ago.”

Bossuet and Joly both nodded, spotting identical evil grins. “Funny about that, though,” Joly said off-handedly. “That’s one of Enjolras’s favorite t-shirts, and he once threatened to kill Bossuet after he spilled on it. Didn’t think it was the kind of shirt he lent out to people.”

“Well, you know Enjolras,” Grantaire muttered, avoiding both of their gazes. “Always full of surprises.”

Bossuet snorted. “He’s not the only one,” he muttered under his breath to Joly, whose grin widened.

* * *

 

“You know, it astounds me that as much money as you and your family have, you don’t have a car,” Feuilly said in lieu of a greeting when Enjolras slid into the front seat of his car.

Enjolras shrugged, clearly not in a talkative mood that early in the morning. “Mind if I put some music on?” he said, his voice still scratchy from sleep. “I’m not allowed to listen to music while doing community service — don’t ask me why, apparently the judge thinks that music is going to inspire me to commit another crime—”

“Like you need more inspiration to commit another crime,” Feuilly snorted.

“Right, exactly,” Enjolras sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Anyway, may I?”

Feuilly shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me. I haven’t slept yet, so it’s probably just going to help me stay awake.”

Enjolras shot him a sharp look. “You had the overnight shift last night? You should have said something, I could’ve asked someone else for a ride.”

Snorting, Feuilly glanced over at him. “You realize that as intelligent and generally middle-to-upper class our friends are, there are only two of us who have our driver’s licenses, right? And Courfeyrac doesn’t own a car.”

“That’s not true,” Enjolras muttered. “Grantaire has his commercial driver’s license.”

Feuilly stared at him. “What?”

Enjolras looked startled. “Grantaire has his CDL,” he repeated. “Didn’t you know that? He had aspirations to be a truck driver, I think, so applied for his CDL but then never decided on the truck driving thing. One of his many random job decisions that didn’t pan out, like when he didn’t know you had to be licensed to be an acupuncturist. I  _still_  have a scar from where he poked me with a needle.”

If possible, Feuilly looked even more startled than Enjolras. “You let Grantaire practice acupuncture on you?”

“Well, yeah, he said he needed to practice and that it would relieve my stress. Of course, I was worried for a few weeks afterward that he gave me some kind of disease because who  _knows_  where he got those needles, so that plan backfired, but…” Feuilly was still staring at him, and Enjolras asked defensively, “What?”

Feuilly shook his head. “Nothing,” he muttered, though he was hiding a grin. “Put some music on if you want to listen to it.”

Enjolras plugged his iPhone in to the cassette adapter and flipped to a playlist. “I don’t know if you know this band,” he told Feuilly. “But I started listening to their stuff recently and I really like them.”

Feuilly listened to the opening chords of the song and couldn’t hide his grin this time, because he did know the band, had in fact listened to Grantaire, not even three weeks prior, tell him all about this band and how much he loved them from that very seat in his car.

* * *

 

Bahorel grinned at Grantaire as best as he could around his mouthguard, his fists up and at the ready, though loose and relaxed. Grantaire grinned back, then aimed a punch at Bahorel’s side, just clipping his ribs with his boxing gloves.

After taking a few steps backwards, Bahorel eyed Grantaire carefully and dodged forward, aiming a punch at Grantaire’s chin. Unfortunately, at that same moment, Grantaire ducked to aim at Bahorel’s stomach, and Bahorel’s fist collided with Grantaire’s eye, causing him to spin backwards towards the ground, where he lay on his back, half-groaning and half-laughing. “Dude, are you alright?” Bahorel asked as the referee counted Grantaire out.

Grantaire groaned and let Bahorel pull him to his feet. “No worries,” he said, spitting out his own mouthguard. “I’d have done the same thing in your position, and you would have had a concussion afterwards.”

“Are you seriously trying to smacktalk me after I just landed you on your ass?” Bahorel laughed, but Grantaire wasn’t listening, instead staring at the crowd who had been watching their sparring match, and more specifically, Enjolras, who was shouldering his way through the crowd.

As soon as Enjolras got through, he practically ran to Grantaire’s side, gripping his arm with one hand while lifting the other to gently trace Grantaire’s already swelling cheekbone. “Are you alright?” Enjolras asked, his voice soft.

Grantaire smiled, then winced as it caused his developing black eye to twinge. “I’m fine,” he assured Enjolras, his voice curiously gentle. “I promise.”

Bahorel, who was still reeling from the realization that Enjolras had for some reason come to watch them fight, quickly turned away to take off his gloves and unwrap his knuckles, content to pretend for the moment that he hadn’t just witnessed…whatever it was he had just witnessed, even as a grin slowly spread across his face.

* * *

 

Prouvaire was pushing forty-eight hours without sleep, which wasn’t the most he’d ever gone, but was up there, and he was sipping the sludge that the Corinthe called coffee because the Musain wasn’t opened this early in the morning, staring down at the chapter from his dissertation that he was supposed to be editing without seeing a single word. Deadlines were a  _bitch_ , and even though he only had a few pages left to edit before he could turn this chapter in to his advisor, all motivation seemed to have fled, and he was living on coffee and a prayer.

Sighing heavily, he grabbed his coffee and drained it, starting to get up to order a refill when the door opened, and Jehan froze, because Enjolras and Grantaire were walking through the door, laughing at something that one of them had just said. Jehan settled back in his seat, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible (even though the book with the glaring title “METAMORPHISIS OF A DEATH SYMBOL” was probably a little conspicuous).

Enjolras and Grantaire ordered coffee and sat down across from each other, still chatting as if they did this every day. Prouvaire couldn’t help but watch them, almost fascinated, and his mouth actually fell open in shock when Enjolras checked his phone, swore, and stood, offering Grantaire a hasty explanation (Grantaire just smiled up at him), and then kissed Grantaire’s forehead before rushing away.

Grantaire stayed at the table, nursing his coffee and beaming widely at nothing in particular.

Jehan stayed in his seat, not wanting to reveal that he had seen, feeling like he had intruded on something private. Besides, he couldn’t decide if he’d hallucinated, or if he had actually just witnessed what he thought he did.

He still had a lot of work to do on his dissertation chapter, but Jehan felt lighter than he had in weeks, and couldn’t help scribbling the beginnings to a poem on the napkin as he watched Grantaire, who was still smiling fondly.

* * *

 

Courfeyrac texted Enjolras about eighteen sad face emojis in a row before texting him, “ _Now that u see what my face will look like if u say no, club 2nite?_ ”

He already knew even the sad faces weren’t going to do anything for Enjolras, who was notoriously stubborn when it came to puppy dog eyes (Combeferre and, bizarrely, Grantaire, were the only ones who could occasionally get through to him). So when he got the reply, he wasn’t entirely surprised. “ _Sorry, staying in to work on some stuff tonight. But have fun!_ ”

Pausing only to make a slight face, Courfeyrac texted Grantaire, who never turned down an opportunity to go out drinking. “ _Club 2nite?_ ”

This time, he was actually surprised by the response he got, a remarkably sober, “ _Nah I think I’m just gonna stay in. Have fun tho!_ ”

Courfeyrac sighed heavily and tucked his phone back into the front pocket of his jeans before leaning back to rest his head against Combeferre’s stomach, shifting until he was comfortable, and smiling slightly when Combeferre ran his fingers through Courfeyrac’s curls. “Do they honestly think they’re fooling anyone?” Courfeyrac asked.

Combeferre just laughed, and Courfeyrac couldn’t help but smile wider as Combeferre’s stomach shook with laughter underneath his head.

* * *

 

The first hour or so of Combeferre’s morning was, with few exceptions, reserved for himself. Despite his stubbornness, Enjolras hated to get up early, so Combeferre was guaranteed at least an hour of silence, where he could read the newspaper without Enjolras’s scathing commentary and drink at least a cup of coffee before dealing with him.

Combeferre loved Enjolras, really, he did, but sometimes…

Well, sometimes an hour alone in the morning was just what he needed.

On this morning, though, Combeferre’s hour alone was interrupted as Grantaire stumbled into the kitchen, clearly in search of coffee, dressed only in what Combeferre was fairly certain were Enjolras’s boxers. As soon as Grantaire saw Combeferre, he froze, eyes widening. “Um,” he said.

Combeferre merely raised an eyebrow. “Coffee cups are in the cabinet on the right side of sink,” he told Grantaire.

Though Grantaire headed straight to the cabinet in question — with the kind of confidence that showed he had done this before — he still looked at Combeferre, almost guiltily, and blurted, “I was working late with Enjolras on…um…something. And I, uh, I fell asleep, so—”

“You really don’t need to do that,” Combeferre interrupted, his expression not changing. “I already took a picture of you and Enjolras asleep in bed together and posted it to Facebook, Twitter, instagram, and even Google+ because Joly insists on using that for some reason.” Grantaire went bright red, but Combeferre waved his hand dismissively. “Really, none of our friends are surprised, if that’s what you’re worried about. Mostly we all want to know why you two bothered trying to keep it a secret.”

Grantaire shrugged and glanced away as he filled up his coffee cup, muttering, “We thought it would be easier than trying to explain.”

Combeferre made a noise that was half frustrated and half amused, and pulled out his phone, pulling up the picture of Enjolras and Grantaire curled around each other and holding each other tightly, before sliding his phone across the table to Grantaire, who picked up the phone, looking at the picture fondly. “No explanation is really needed, I promise you that.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Nope](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1585529) by [kjack89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89)




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